Ghazal 474

I am your devotee, O beloved, and I know that you know —

for you see without seeing, and you read without writing.

What does the blamer understand between lover and beloved?

The blind eye does not see — especially hidden secrets.

Shake your tresses and bring the Sufi to foot-play and dance —

for from every patch of his cloak, a thousand idols will fall.

The opening of the lovers' work is in that heart-binding brow —

for God's sake, sit for one breath and untie the knot from your forehead.

The angel, in prostrating to Adam, intended to kiss the ground before you —

for in your beauty it saw a grace beyond the limit of humanity.

The lamp-lighter of our eyes is the breeze of the beloved's tresses —

may this gathering never know, O Lord, the grief of the wind of scattering.

Alas for the joy of the night-vigil that passed in the sleep of dawn —

you will not know the value of time, O heart, until you are helpless.

To be weary of companions is not the way of the wise —

bear the hardship of the station in memory of the time of ease.

The fancy of the ring of her tresses deceives you, Hafez —

beware, lest you shake the ring of impossible fortune.